I’ve had a very busy few days visiting aged/aging parents. This is always both wonderful and a bit exhausting, and because of both of these aspects, I am posting an older poem today. It’s about a similar visit, made with my mother to visit my grandmother.
Wondrous
We flew out there, then drove.
My mother, who despised gum chewers,
snapped hers loudly, pushing herself up
to the wheel as if it were the chin rest
at an eye exam.
Though my grandmother lived in Minnesota, the hospital
was in Iowa. When the rental car crossed state lines—
another source of amazement—
my mother, who only drove set routes, had rented a car—
the road narrowed and curved and my mother
cursed all Republicans.
She took the thin gravelly shoulder as
a personal affront; the lip the tires
skidded against was even worse,
an insult to FDR.
At the hospital, my grandmother’s hair cast
about her face like a bridal veil blown back.
She was better already, she said, just
at the sight of us (but we sure shouldn’t have come;
it was too darn hard).
Then pointed to a cup of jello,
which was as crimson, faceted, as a ruby,
and, at first, resisted my spoon.
“Mama,” my mother said.
ManicDDaily 
Recent Comments